


Wanting

by Lillielle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Shameless Smut, Smut, Snanger Danger, Teacher/Student Relationships, Wanton Fantasies, snamione
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-06
Updated: 2013-08-06
Packaged: 2017-12-22 14:44:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/914432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lillielle/pseuds/Lillielle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Disclaimer: None of it is mine.</p>
<p>Brief, smutty plot bunny about Hermione and Severus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wanting

Wanting.

Hermione wanted him, with fire-slicked, short-breathed intensity. She'd never felt this way before. Never wanted to mold herself to another person like this, skin flush and damp against skin, her fingers digging into his scalp, tugging the short dark strands of his hair. Never wanted to press her mouth to another person's like this, her teeth biting into his bottom lip, tongues fighting and dancing and sliding together.

She'd never wanted someone to lift her against the wall, shove her skirt up around her waist, and take her. Slamming her body roughly against the cold stone walls, uncaring whether her hips bruised or her skin bloodied. Nipping and biting at her throat, leaving love bruises in the shadows of her collarbones. She wondered how it would feel to be bent over her desk, hands gripping the opposite edge so tightly her knuckles whitened, as he fucked her from behind, shoving her forward until her hair tangled across her vision and her breath stopped.

Or perhaps outside, pressing her into dew-chilled grass or the softly rough prickle of a spread blanket, working her open with slow, shallow thrusts, panting above her, holding her wrists down with one hand as he caressed her body with the other.

The thoughts were driving her mad. She couldn't sleep anymore without dreaming of him, without waking sometime in the early morning, panting and unfulfilled, her hand thrust down her knickers, which had become a sopping mess. When she came, his name lingered unspent on her lips.

She couldn't tell anyone else about this. They'd think her insane. Hell, half the time,  _she_ thought she was insane. While Ginny prattled on about Michael Corner or Dean Thomas or that squinty-eyed boy who sat three rows behind her in Charms, and Luna murmured dreamily about some boy she'd seen in her dreams that had hair like corn silk and the same fervent belief in pixie willows, Hermione dreamed about...

No, she couldn't say it, not even to herself. It was ridiculous. Unbecoming of an eighth year student, christened so by Headmistress McGonagall as a way to distinguish the regular seventh years from those returning to make up their last year at Hogwarts. Almost everyone had come back. Hermione wasn't sure why, but she suspected both familiarity and an uneasy sense of not wanting to leave those who  _understood_. The regular world out there didn't understand what it had been like at Hogwarts, what it had been like to fight You Know Who and win.

Of course, not even those students would understand  _her_. Insane, barmy, disgusting, perhaps even a traitor to the cause. He'd been found innocent by the Wizengamot, but that wasn't enough for most of the student body. Well--she supposed it didn't help his acid tongue, bitter remarks, and sneering face were also burnt into their memories.

And it wasn't like she didn't recall the same things, which was what made the current perpetually damp state of her knickers at the merest glimpse of him so puzzling. She was under no illusions regarding the man. He'd come back to teach Potions at Headmistress McGonagall's request. His hair cut a lot closer to his head, his neck perpetually stretched slightly to one side, the marks from Nagini still puckered and visible. But still the same sour man, with the same cruel tongue and sneer. The same leanly muscled arms and back, the same slender body hidden behind flowing black robes...

Hermione gulped and nearly slammed her textbook shut, grateful for once to be locked away in her own room. Normally it felt too confining, left her too alone with her memories. But now, well, she couldn't imagine explaining her flushed cheeks and sweaty face to an overly inquiring classmate.

It had to be insanity brought on by the end of the year exams looming in only a few months, she told herself constantly. It was the only logical explanation. Hermione was big on logic.

Of course, logic refused to erase the thought of his mouth, hot and insistent against her ear, or the way his tongue would lave the skin just under her chin, or the way his hands would grip her robes and pull them apart with just enough force to make her throat go dry.

It was starting to affect her work, and that was something Hermione could not forgive.

So it was she decided, one slightly chilly evening in late April, she would have to seduce Professor Snape.


End file.
